Dead Meat | Day 8 Page 7

  Mom turns away from him and walks to the window. She reaches over the sink and pulls away the board covering the glass. She looks out into the courtyard for almost half a minute, not moving, not saying or doing anything.

  From where Dennis is standing, he can make out the rear end of the van. He doesn’t dare to say anything, so he just stands there, rubbing his chin and waiting for Mom’s lead.

  Finally, Mom puts the board back up in front of the window. She turns towards Dennis again. “The boy in the tunnel … was it the older or the younger one?”

  “The … the younger.”

  “The one without any tattoos?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you didn’t see him? The one with the tattoos?”

  Dennis shakes his head.

  “How about anyone of the others? There was a man, too. And a young woman with dark skin. Have you seen any of them?”

  “No, Mom. I told you: I only saw Dan and the girl who’s sitting out in the van.” Dennis pauses, then dares to say: “I think she’s alone out there.”

  “But you don’t know that.”

  “No, but …”

  “But what? For all you know, that van could be full of people.”

  “Yeah, I know, but … I thought of it long and hard last night, Mom, and I think it’s just Dan and the girl. He told me so.”

  Mom raises her eyebrows. “He told you he would be coming alone as well. He’s a liar.”

  “I know, but …” Dennis shrugs towards the van. “I mean, why would they just stay out there? What are they waiting for?”

  Mom seems to consider, then she mutters: “They must have a plan. Luckily, though, it doesn’t really matter. At least not for now. Our problem is the boy.” Mom falls silent once more. Then she looks at Dennis again. “You’re absolutely certain he didn’t have a gun?”

  “He wasn’t armed, Mom. I swear.”

  “He wasn’t concealing a gun?”

  Dennis throws out his arms. “I think I would have seen it. Besides, why wouldn’t he have used it on me if he had one?”

  Mom does her slow nod again. She glances at the floor, as though she can see right through to the tunnel below. “We can’t have him running around down there. He might break through the door while we’re sleeping.”

  “I don’t think he can,” Dennis begins. “It’s very—”

  “We’re not taking that chance,” Mom says, her eyes blazing at him. “We’re cleaning this mess up as best we can.”

  “Okay, Mom,” Dennis says meekly. “Then what … what are we going to do?”

  Mom’s eyes grow distant for a brief moment. “I need to go down there and take care of it.” Her hand goes to her hip, where she usually keeps the dagger. Dennis can never tell through her gown if it’s there or not.

  He gets a sinking feeling in his gut as he realizes what Mom’s intentions are. For some reason, he’s almost sick at the thought of her going down there to …

  “Let me do it, Mom,” he blurts out before he even knows what he’s saying. “Let me go down there.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll take care of it. I’ll use the gun.”

  Mom shakes her head. “That thing is way too unreliable. You might miss. Or, even worse, the shot might produce a spark and set everything on fire.”

  “But … but this is my mess!” Dennis says, trying to muster some measure of dignity to his voice. “I should be the one to make it right.”

  “You should,” Mom says outright. “But I don’t trust you to. And there’s too much at stake.”

  “But—”

  “We’re done discussing.”

  “But, Mom—”

  “Enough!”

  She raises her voice only slightly, yet it’s enough to make Dennis jump. He forgot himself for a moment. He had to push it, though; the thought of Mom using her dagger on Dan is just too awful. Dennis isn’t sure why, maybe it’s because it reminds him of the way Mom killed Old Niels. Maybe it’s because Dennis feels responsible for Dan ending up down there.

  But there’s a deeper reason, too; one that Dennis can’t consciously reach, much less understand. At some level, Dennis identifies with Dan. Not just because they’re the same age, but something about Dan reminded Dennis very much of himself. The way he talked, the way he moved. Dennis has always been an outcast among his classmates—for obvious reasons. And he got the same feeling from Dan—that he was a lonely guy, someone not popular, someone carrying the burden of never being noticed.

  Even though Dennis couldn’t put this feeling into words if he had to, part of him understands this to be the reason he doesn’t want Dan to die, the reason why Dennis was never going to burn him alive, even the reason why Dennis trusted Dan in the first place.

  Dan and Dennis are very similar, maybe even alike.

  In another world they could have been friends. Brothers, even.

  “Dennis?” Mom says, bringing him back. Her voice is somewhat softer now, yet very determined. “You stay here, unless I call for you. Okay?”

  Dennis swallows, blinks, then nods.

  “Good,” Mom says. “I’ll make it fast.”

  She turns around and walks out into the hallway. Dennis looks after her as she goes to the cabinet, taking out her dagger. She opens the cabinet carefully, looks briefly at the empty gas can, then steps into the semidarkness.

  She stands there for a moment, listening for any sounds through the secret door. Then she reaches out and turns the key slowly.

  NINETEEN

  “Dan? … Dan, who is it? … Who’s down there with you?”

  Liv gets no answer this time; she can sense Dan is no longer below her. He probably climbed down the ladder and has walked back down the tunnel to meet whoever came down from the house.

  Liv hopes very much it’s the guy and that he’s changed his mind. That he decided to trust Dan anyway and will be letting him out. That would also mean they could help Liv get out, too.

  But she feels very deep in her gut that that’s not what’s about to go down. In fact, she has a very bad feeling. She looks to the house. Even though the windows are still boarded up, she can all too easily recall the dead stare from the woman just minutes ago.

  “Fuck,” she mutters. “This is not good … this is not good at all …”

  She tries to think, tries desperately to come up with some way of helping Dan, but there’s just no way for her to get out of the van without—

  Plonk!

  Liv snaps her head around at the sound. Something hit the van from behind. It wasn’t the zombies; the noises from their fingers are a lot softer. This sounded more like metal or stone.

  Before Liv can figure out what made the noise, it comes again.

  Plonk!

  What the hell?

  Liv gets to her feet and walks back to the rear doors. She looks out the window, which is high enough that she can see over the heads of the zombies, the only thing obstructing her view being their hands fumbling over the window.

  She can see the other end of the courtyard and the gravel road leading down to the highway. But she can’t see what produced the sound.

  Then, suddenly, over by the trees, a guy pops out, waving at her.

  He’s a few years older than Liv and sports large tattoos running up and down his arms. Over his shoulder is a rifle. He’s wearing a Guns ’n’ Roses T-shirt. Dan never described William to her, but he did mention his German shepherd, which is sitting right beside him, staring menacingly at the zombies, looking like he’s just waiting to be given the green light to launch at them.

  “William?” she exclaims.

  The guy shrugs, then places one hand behind his ear.

  Liv forms a funnel around her mouth with both hands and shouts: “William?”

  He nods and shows her a thumbs-up. He then mouths: “Dan?”

  Liv shouts: “Dan’s in danger! We have to help him! Get me out of here!”

  She’s not sure if all the words reach William through
the moans and groans of the zombies, but the main message seems to get through. He glances briefly at the house, gives the dog a command, then steps into the courtyard.

  Almost immediately, the zombies by the van seem to sense the more accessible prey and turn their attention towards William. He comes a little closer still, drawing the last of them. Then, once he’s sure the entire group is headed for him, he turns around, whistles at the dog—who follows him only reluctantly—and runs out of the courtyard and down the gravel road.

  The zombies stagger after him as William disappears out of sight. Liv watches the zombies follow him, counting her heartbeats, knowing that if she opens the car door too soon, they will turn around and come right back, and she won’t have time to move the van.

  “Come on, come on,” she chants.

  Then, as the last of the zombies finally disappear from view, Liv opens the door and jumps out, breathing in the fresh air in a big gulp.

  She runs around the van, places her hands at the hood and begins pushing. Her feet slip on the gravel and the van doesn’t move an inch. “Come on! Come on, damnit!”

  Steps running across gravel make her look up in alarm.

  William comes around the van, stopping as he sees her, panting and holding the rifle. “Good, you’re out! Where’s Dan? Is he in danger?”

  “Yes! He’s down there,” Liv says, pointing. “Help me move this thing.”

  They both place their shoulders against the van and push in unison.

  “You sure you put it in neutral?” William asks, heaving for breath as he strains to push the van.

  “I double-checked,” Liv says, biting down hard. “Come on, just push!”

  For a moment, she’s sure it won’t move.

  Then the van—very, very slowly—starts rolling.

  TWENTY

  Dan senses the person before he actually sees them.

  He wasn’t sure if he really heard the lock click from down the other end of the tunnel, but as he climbs back down the ladder, he can tell the glow from atop the staircase is brighter than before.

  And then he sees the pair of legs coming down the steps, slowly, methodically, as though choosing every step with great care and consideration. The person is wearing a white, knee-long dress, which tells him right away it’s not Dennis.

  As her flat-chested torso comes into view, Dan is struck by how tall Birgit is; he’s only seen her from the window. But now, as she finally comes into full view, stopping by the end of the staircase, she looks almost freakishly tall in the dim light. As she’s standing there, looking at him through the tunnel, she seems like something out of time. Like an evil spirit from ancient worlds come to haunt him.

  “I knew you’d be back,” she says.

  The words seem to leave her mouth without her having to move her lips, reaching Dan by snaking their way through the tunnel.

  Dan has to pry his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “I’m not here to fight.”

  Birgit doesn’t seem to hear him. “I knew some of you would be back, but I have to admit, at first I was surprised it was you.” She takes a step closer. It looks more like she glides across the floor. “Then I remembered seeing you in the car. You saw me too, didn’t you?”

  Dan nods.

  “And I remembered,” Birgit goes on, talking slowly and taking another step towards him, “how I could sense back then you were the one calling the shots. It struck me as odd, since you were the youngest in your group. But sometimes, age doesn’t matter. It’s just a number—isn’t that what they say?”

  Dan swallows dryly and shakes his head. “I didn’t call the shots. We were a group. We worked together.”

  Birgit smiles. “Then why are you the one standing here? And don’t tell me it’s fate; I don’t believe in that.”

  “I don’t either. It was my own choice. I came back to talk with you.”

  “Yes, my son told me.”

  Another step towards him. The way she walks looks strange, not just because of the way she seems to be moving without the help of her feet, but also due to the way she isn’t facing him straight on; her body is turned very slightly to the left, giving her an off-balance look. There’s something ominous about it, something threatening, yet Dan can’t place what it is.

  “So,” she says, showing him her palm. “Here’s your chance. Say what you came to say.”

  Dan breathes in. “I need your help. I know you do voodoo. I know you were there when the first person came back to life—the girl at Esther’s place.”

  Birgit is in the middle of taking another step, but she stops. Her expression darkens slightly. “And how would you know that, pray tell?”

  “I was there,” Dan says. “Some hours after you’d left. I saw your son’s pouch, the one he’s carrying around his neck. And I recognized it when I saw him from the window.”

  Birgit is silent for several long seconds. “You’re even more perceptive than I thought.”

  “I just put the pieces together,” Dan says. “I figured Dennis wasn’t the one doing the ritual, so it must have been you.”

  Birgit takes another step. “I was helping the girl.”

  “I know. She died in an accident somehow, and you wanted to bring her back to life. Normal life. You had good intentions, but it went off the rails somehow.”

  “That wasn’t my doing,” Birgit says, and the tone of her voice changes, showing real emotion for the first time.

  “I didn’t come to blame you for anything,” Dan goes on. “I don’t care about all of that. I don’t even care about you killing Holger.”

  “How amicable of you.”

  “I just want you to try and reverse this curse, or whatever it is.”

  Birgit takes another step. She’s halfway through the tunnel now, slowly closing the distance between them. “You’re a wise boy, but you speak of things you have no knowledge of. Don’t you think I would have reversed it if that was within my power?”

  “We have to try,” Dan says. “It’s the only way it’ll ever end.”

  Birgit shakes her head. “There’s only one way it will end, and that end has already started.”

  As she steps closer, she comes into the light of one of the roof lamps, and for a moment the reflection catches both her eyes, making them flash with menace.

  Finally, it strikes Dan what the reason is for the slightly turned way Birgit is walking: she’s holding her right arm close to her side, keeping the hand discretely out of view.

  “What’s in your hand?” Dan says, hearing his mouth talk without his permission. “Is that a knife? Are you going to kill me with it like you killed Holger?”

  Birgit stops dead in her track.

  She stares him right in the face, and Dan stares back at her. Without breaking eye contact, Birgit lets her hand drift out, revealing a shining bronze-colored blade of what looks more like an Iron-Age dagger than a knife.

  “That was my intention, yes,” she says.

  “You can kill me,” Dan says, feeling a sudden and unexpected rush of something forceful streaming up through his chest. It’s all he can do to keep it back, yet it still shines through in his voice. “But it won’t solve anything. You’ll still be living in a world about to be taken over by the dead. You will live in constant fear and your son will know nothing but paranoia and death.”

  Birgit tilts her head slightly, revealing her white teeth in a sneer. “What would you know about death?”

  Whatever has built in Dan suddenly breaks loose. He surprises even himself in taking a step forward. “What do I know? I’ve lost my entire family! I’ve lost everyone I love! They’re all dead because of what you started, so go ahead: kill me too! If you want to keep making chaos instead of trying to fix it, then just go ahead!”

  Birgit looks like she’s about to step back but manages to hold firm at the last second. Then, as the echo of Dan’s voice dies out in the tunnel, her expression turns from surprise to stone.

  And Dan knows at that moment he will die.
>
  He knows it like he knows the sun will rise tomorrow.

  As Birgit steps forward, raising the dagger, time slows down and Dan closes his eyes. The faces of his family once more glide across his inner vision, and he thinks very clearly and calmly: I will see you in a moment.

  There’s no fear. No pain.

  Only a bright light from above enrobing him.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Breaking open the wall turns out a whole lot harder than Iver imagined.

  He’s been working on it for hours, using different tactics and tools. First, he tried simply smashing his way through the wall using Agnete’s metal candlestick, and while getting through the initial layer of wallpaper and plaster was easy enough, it turned out to be bricks on the inside, and there was no way he would get through that way by hammering it.

  Instead he began scratching at the joints using the other end of the candlestick. It was tedious work, but he did seem to make progress; the mortar would slowly crumble and fall away as dust.

  The problem was, it took him over an hour to get only one brick loose. When he finally was able to pull it out, the door had started to make that awful cracking sound more and more often.

  The hinges on the door turned out to be more durable than Iver first feared. But between the occasional thrust against the door and the sheer pressure of the crowd of zombies, it wouldn’t last for long.

  Now, the sun has long since come up and is blazing in through the windows. Adam is awake and crying now and then. Agnete comforts him as best she can, but the boy is hungry. So is Iver. He’s also dead tired and his arms are killing him from working the wall. His palms have grown blisters, but he can’t slow down, so he’s pushing through the pain.

  He’s pried free three bricks by now, and just as he begins working on the fourth, the lower hinge on the door gives way. It simply falls off, landing on the floor with a metallic sound.

  Iver freezes and stares at it.

  The door swings into the room a few inches at the bottom. It’s not enough for any of the zombies to squeeze through, since the upper hinge is still clinging on, but they reach in their arms and grope for anything to grab onto.